Girl Talk
by Midnight Auroua
Summary: What starts out as a mission to apprehend Deadpool turns into good old fashion male bonding with Gambit, Wolverine, Cyclops, Pyro, and the Merc with a Mouth himself. And the defenseless waitress who wants nothing to do with them.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, everybody!**

**I just want to thank everyone for the constant reviews. And for voting. I'm glad so many of you have stuck with me through all of my stories. You all are the best and I appreciate you. Don't forget that.**

**Anyway….**

**This was supposed to be a one-shot. But I think now, it's gonna be a short little chapter story. Just for fun. And right after this is finished, I'll probably go right into the next, big chapter story. The one y'all voted for. Remember that?**

**Oh. I guess you wanna know the winner, huh?**

**Oh. Okay. Drum roll please. **

***drum roll***

**Thigh High Boots. **

**Yes, yes. Not all that shocking. But the people who voted for the other two stories, fear not! For after Thigh High Boots is finished, I will be doing the other stories too. So everyone wins, some just priority over others. **

**I guess I can reveal a little bit about Thigh High Boots? A teaser of sorts?**

**The first hint I will give you is….Rogue has a problem with superheroines who wear thigh high boots. **

**That'll make sense later. **

**Well, I guess we should start with the insanity. Hope you enjoy. I'm just writing this for silly, useless fun. **

**XXXXX**

On this particular day, Remy LeBeau was a man on a mission.

It was not his usual kind of mission. But when he was asked to take it, he did so with no reluctance. Admittedly, there was fear in his heart. But surely his steely determination and combative skills would be enough to see him through.

_Deadpool_.

His old enemy. And by enemy, he meant the man who he paid off to _not _fight. The man who put him one thousand dollars in the hole. The nutcase. The Merc with a Mouth. The man who Remy LeBeau wanted to rematch.

Even if the other X-Men didn't know about how he paid off crazypants. They thought Remy had somehow saved the day, due to his ability to be awesome in general. He let them think that. But now it was his personal dignity on the line.

He had to take on Deadpool. And he had to _win_.

When reports of a man, armed to the teeth and wearing a red and black mask, came in, it didn't take long to realize it was Wade Wilson. No one was quite sure why Wade Wilson was terrorizing a Mexican restaurant in upstate New York, but it didn't matter. The X-Men looked to the man who had "defeated" Wilson before.

Obviously, Remy accepted. Attempted to kiss his kind-of-sort-of girlfriend, which she refused to let him do. Said a little prayer. Grabbed his supplies and was off.

Now, Remy LeBeau's eyes narrowed behind his motorcycle helmet.

He had arrived.

It was a Friday night and typically, the little Mexican restaurant was packed and busy. But on this night, the parking lot was empty, save for a handful of cars. According to Charlie, Deadpool had let almost everyone who had been there rush out the door unharmed, save for one unlucky waitress and a few cooks in the kitchen. Again, no one understood his motives. But Remy wasn't sent in to understand. He was sent in to save the hostages and defeat crazypants.

He dismounted his beloved bike, then removed his helmet. The X-Man was so consumed with his mission, he did not even take a moment to fix his hair. Instead, he pulled out his bo-staff and approached what could possibly be his death.

Never, in his life, did he think a little Mexican restaurant would fill him with such dread.

He lifted his chin. It didn't matter.

He could do this. He was Remy LeBeau. He was _Le Diable Blanc_. He was the Prince of Theives. He was Gambit.

He could do this.

He pulled out his prized cards. Queen of Hearts. Ace of Spades. The Joker.

His lucky lady. His calling card. His personal favorite.

Remy LeBeau drew in a deep breath. Wished he had kissed Rogue. Decided he would have to win this fight so that he could see the day when she could control her powers . Said one more prayer, even though he wasn't particularly religious.

Then he kicked the door open and marched in.

XXXXX

Logan was mad.

He was mad and, if he was going to be honest, he was a little worried.

Gumbo had been missing for awhile. A very long while. It shouldn't have taken this long. A fight with Wade Wilson was never an easy one but it wasn't one that shouldn't have lasted _hours_. But LeBeau had been missing for hours. Hadn't checked in for hours.

Logan knew that he should have taken this mission. He knew he shouldn't have let the Gumbo take this one on. Logan was the one who was familiar with Wilson. Had fought and worked with the mercenary enough times to know what to expect.

Now the Cajun was missing. The X-Men were worried. Rogue was frantic.

Not good. No good.

Logan had come to care for the Cajun in a sick, annoying but well-meaning son-in-law-so-he-had-to-deal-with-him kind of way. He didn't want the X-Men to worry. And he most certainly did not want Rogue to be upset.

He liked Rogue. Rogue liked the Cajun. Therefore, Logan had to go save the Cajun.

He just hoped it wasn't too late.

As he pulled up to the restaurant, he saw Gumbo's red and black Harley still in the parking lot, among a few other cars. The door had been kicked in. He could hear voices. What those voices were saying exactly, he wasn't sure.

Only one way to find out.

All six claws out and ready, he walked into the little restaurant.

What he found inside, he was not ready for. Without thinking, he dropped his "ready" stance, making him vulnerable.

He was not expecting this.

XXXXX

Scott didn't know what anyone expected of him.

Logan and Remy were two of the best men they had on their team. Logan, from decades of experience. Remy, from years of being up to no good. In fact, Scott thought if they could be in the same room together without Logan trying to decapitate him, they could probably be a good team.

But that was irrelevant.

What mattered, was that Scott didn't know what they wanted from him.

He also didn't know why the Professor kept sending them on solo missions when two X-Men had disappeared after trying to detain the mercenary Wade Wilson, aka Deadpool. But after both Gambit and Wolverine didn't return, Scott was the next one to try and save the day.

It wasn't that Scott didn't think highly of himself. It wasn't that he didn't think he was a skilled fighter. It was just that it was _Deadpool_.

How the hell did they think this was going to turn out?

When he pulled up to the Mexican restaurant, both of the X-Men's motorcycles were parked there. The door was kicked in. A window had been shattered from the inside. Outside of it, there was an overturned plate with the remains of a…taco? The remains of some sort of taco spilled out from under it.

What the hell was going on?

Apparently, there was only one way to find out. Scott straightened his shoulders and stepped through the ruined door.

And there was Deadpool. At a table that could seat six. His legs were propped up on the table, a very tall bottle of Jack Daniels in hand. The bottom part of his mask was pulled back, revealing his mouth and the scarred skin surrounding it.

And there was Logan and Remy, also sitting quite comfortably around the table. Remy had a beer in front of him and Logan was also holding a Jack Daniels. Behind the men, a pretty red head stood there, a tray clutched to her chest like a shield. She looked as skittish as she did confused.

And…was that Pyro? Like…Magneto's Pyro?

Scott did not understand.

The four men sat around the table, laughing and having a good time. Like they were old college buddies who had been reunited.

"Uhh…what's going on?"

All four men looked over at him. The waitress rolled her eyes. When Remy saw him, he raised his beer good naturedly, smiling broadly.

"Scooter! What brings you here, _monsieur_?"

Was he joking?

"I'm here to save you," Scott answered. But it came out as more of a question. Was he really here to rescue his fellow X-Men or break up what appeared to be a drinking game? "I think."

"Save us from what?" Remy asked, sounding genuinely confused by Scott's statement.

"Deadpool."

A gunshot rang through the air. The waitress lifted her tray up in front of her like a shield, squeaking in a mix of fear and surprise. Scott instantly took a fighting stance, his hand raised to the side of his visor. He was ready to fight.

He waited for Deadpool to attack. But he didn't. He hadn't even taken his feet off the table. One of his many, many guns was pointed toward the ceiling. Scott saw a bullet hole had appeared there.

So he shot a whole through the ceiling. Why?

"I am so sick of people making the wild assumption that I'm doing someone harm!" Wilson lamented, spinning his scary looking gun around his index finger. "Why do you think your friends need saving? Do they look like they need saving?"

"Uh—"

"Christine!" Wilson yelled, cutting Scott off. He pointed the gun at the waitress as casually as he would point a finger. She jumped, lifting her tray up a little higher. "Do you think my friends need to be saved?"

She shook her head rapidly. "No, sir."

"Do _you _think _you _need to be saved?"

She gulped. "No, sir."

Wilson threw his gun in the air so he could spread his arms out wide in an exasperated manner. "Then what's the problem?"

The gun landed on the table. When it did, it went off. Christine screamed and threw herself to the ground. Wilson, Remy, and Pyro (what the hell was Pyro doing here?) did not even bat an eyelash when the bullet tore clean through Logan's shoulder. All Wilson did was smile sheepishly with a little shrug.

"Sorry, Logan," he said.

Logan grunted, then took a swig from his Jack Daniels. The wound had already stopped bleeding.

Christine was still on the floor, her tray held over her head. Poor girl.

Scott looked from the girl to his teammates to the pyromaniac and finally the mercenary.

"So, you guys don't need to be rescued?"

"Nope."

"_Non_."

"What the hell are ya talkin' 'bout, fella?"

Scott looked at Wilson. "So…you aren't terrorizing this Mexican restaurant?"

"I just wanted a chimichanga," he said with all the genuine, childlike innocence in the world. "But for some reason, when I walked in the door, everyone ran out. Is it the guns? I bet it's the guns. Maybe the katana?" He smiled. "Luckily, Christine here decided to stick around to wait on me. Isn't that right Christine?"

She whimpered.

Wilson shrugged. "And there are a few cooks in the back to make my chimichangas. They tried to leave." He pulled a knife out from his boot. "I convinced them to stay."

"So…you came all the way to New York for…tacos?"

The bullet that zoomed past Scott came so close to his face, a lock his hair fell slowly to the floor. He touched his face in shock, looking for signs of damage. No blood. No pain.

Just shock.

The X-Man slowly turned back to Wilson, who had a frightening looking smoking gun pointed at him. His mask was still rolled far enough up for him to see the frown that was decorating his deformed mouth. And the red and black mask was wrinkled, indicating he was frowning. Deeply.

"Chimichangas." He cocked the gun, his gravelly-Demi Moore voice threatening. "Not tacos. Chimi. Changas."

Scott raised his hands defensively. "Whoa. Okay, man. Chimichangas."

Deadpool still did not look satisfied. "Do you see that window?"

"I saw the window."

"Do you see it?"

"I already saw it."

"LOOK AT THE WINDOW!"

Scott looked at the shattered window. His knees started to shake with fear. Why weren't Wolverine or Gambit trying to help? Bastards.

"I'm looking at the window."

"Do you know why that window is broken?" Wilson asked, his voice eerily calm. He had yet to lower the gun.

"Because you threw a plate through it?"

He nodded. "Do you know why I threw a plate through the window?"

"No."

Deadpool glanced at Christine, his gun still pointed on Scott. Seriously. Why weren't the X-Men rushing to his aid?

Assholes.

"Christine. Tell them why I threw a plate through the window."

She cleared her throat, peering at Scott from where she cowered on the floor. "B-because the chimichanga wasn't the best."

"BECAUSE THE CHIMICHANGA WASN'T THE BEST," Wilson repeated, waving the gun dramatically. "And what does your restaurant advertise, my darling Christine?"

"That we have—"

"That you have the best chimichangas in all of New York! That's what you advertise. And _that_...monstrosity was _not _the best chimichanga in all of New York. And when Deadpool wants the best, Deadpool gets the god damn best. So when they brought me the grossichanga…that chimi…nastychanga…that…wait. I had something for this…" He trailed off, tapping the gun to his chin thoughtfully. "Logan, do you remember what I had for this?"

He grunted.

"LeBeau?"

Remy adopted a contemplative expression. There was a pregnant silence before the Cajun snapped his fingers, smiling a broad smile. "Chimi_wronga_."

Deadpool smiled, nodding happily. "Chimiwronga. Thanks, LeBeau."

"Anytime."

"We're friends," Deadpool whispered to Scott, as if he were sharing some deep, dark secret. "We bonded over a mutual love of red and black."

Scott nodded slowly, not really understanding. "Uh huh…."

"Anyway, they brought me that chimiwronga—"

Remy chuckled in the background.

"—and I said to Christine 'take it back! Take this disgrace back to the kitchen!' I said. Then what did I do? Christine!"

"Yes, Mr. Deadpool?"

"What did I do?"

"You…you threw the plate through the window before I can take it back."

"I threw the god damn plate through the god damn window and demanded another chimichanga! Because I have standards, bitch."

Everyone but Scott and Christine nodded.

Then Wilson smiled, looking as friendly as a man wearing grenades could look. "Anyway, when Logan and LeBeau came in, I invited them to join me. Of course."

"Of course," Logan repeated, looking bored.

Remy just nodded.

"So, uh, how did Pyro get added into the mix?" Scott asked, because it was one of his questions that had yet to be answered.

And he had _so _many questions.

Pyro shrugged. "Remy invited me." Then he threw back the last of his beer.

"And why did Remy invite you?"

"I figured this was somethin' John wanted to get involved in," Remy answered. He said it as if it was the most obvious answer in the world and Scott was an idiot for not getting it right away. But then again, Remy always spoke to Scott like he thought he was an idiot. "And since he's my best friend an' all, I decided to call 'em up."

"And Remy's my best mate too. 'Ey! Shelia! Can I get another beer over here?"

Christine nodded and ducked behind the bar.

Scott stared, taking a moment to drink in what he just walked in on. "So…you're telling me that you came in here for..tac..."

Deadpool raised the gun once more.

"…chimichanga, scared half of the restaurant out of the door and held a waitress and some cooks hostage—"

"Hey! Christine is not a hostage! She wants to be here. Right Christine?"

"…yes, Mr. Deadpool…."

"—and when Gambit and Wolverine came in to apprehend you, you invited them to join you for beer and chimichangas?"

"Yes," Deadpool said.

"_Oui_."

"Yup," Wolverine drawled, sounding bored.

"Oy," Pyro added.

Deadpool took a seat once more, putting his feet back up on the table. Then he looked at Scott, smiling.

"Wanna join us?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I've already updated! Thank goodness for long weekends. I'm so glad everyone is enjoying this bit of insanity I'm spitting out. **

**BlueFox: it's all good. Also, your guess about thigh high boots is right on the nose. I'm happy to tell you that that story will stay at a T rating. Long Black Gloves went up mostly for the violence. If you're interested in reading Thigh High Boots when it comes out, I can send you a little summary of what happened in the last story so you're all caught up. But if not, it's all good. I'm just glad you like this story = )**

**Zany: that was a nod at you that I forgot to make note of at the end of the chapter. Opps. Sorry. **

**Fire Makes Me Smile: fear not! Christine will come out a winner in the end too.**

**Everyone else: I'm glad you're liking my Deadpool. I work hard on his crazy. **

**XXXXX**

"Hey! Logan! Let's have a contest to see who can get drunk first."

"No."

"Com'on. It'll be fuuuuuuun."

"No."

"Do you know why it'd be fun?"

"Leave me alone, Wilson."

"It'll be fun 'cause we both heal. It makes getting drunk hard for us, huh?"

"Shut up, Wilson."

"Loggie, com'on!"

"Don't call me Loggie."

"Loggie!"

"I'll cut your head off if you don't shut the hell up, Wilson."

"I'll just put it back on," Wade countered.

Logan grunted.

"Com'on, Wolive," Remy slurred. "Don' be such a stick in the mud."

John nodded, sloshing his beer about carelessly. "That's right, Badger. Jus' take a look at me and Rems." He gestured at his friend. "Drinkin' like we don't gotta care in the wide, blue world. Not like your boy scout over there. The yobbo."

Scott slammed his open hand on the table. "Hey! I am not a stick in the mud or a whatever you just called me!"

"Yeah!" Wade agreed. "You're more a flunkee if you ask me!"

"No one asked you."

Remy laughed. "A loser."

"Dork!" John added.

"Dweeb!"

"Stick up the ass!"

"Young adult male who is unable to control his mutant ability to shoot lasers from his eyes!" Wade added, throwing his head back to laugh. When no one laughed with him, he stopped, looking around. "Too specific?"

"Yup."

"Aye."

"_Oui_."

"I am not a loser. Or a stick in the mud."

"What about a yobbo?"

"No!"

The men glared at each other. Silence stretched.

Logan grunted. "We need more beer."

"Yup."

"Aye."

"_Oui_."

"Christine!"

She squealed from her spot behind the bar. "Yes, Mr. Deadpool?"

"Shots! We need shots! And lots of them. Like that song. Do you know what song I'm talking about? The one about shots?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sing for me, Christine."

The red head lifted a lofted eyebrow. "…what?"

"Sing for me! Pretend that I am the deformed Phantom of the Opera, my disfigured face hidden behind a red and black mask of loneliness. And you are my…hey!" He pointed a finger at the shaking Christine. "You're my Christine! Just like the girl from the Phantom of the Opera! Isn't that funny?"

"Yes, Mr. Deadpool. Very funny."

"Sing for me!" he bellowed in a dramatic voice.

"But I—"

"SING!"

Christine glanced around the room nervously a few times, seeming unsure if she was actually being asked to sing by the deranged man in the red and black mask. But when none of the other people—the attractive one with the odd eyes, the one who kept playing with his lighter, the angry one, and the one in the funny glasses—did nothing to help her or stop the crazy one, she did the only thing she knew to do.

She sang.

"Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots…" she squeaked, swaying her hips awkwardly. The one in the mask nodded approvingly. "Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots. Everybody."

She finished awkwardly, looking around for signs of approval. When all the men in the room just stared at her, she added a little, clumsy bow. She forced herself to smile.

"Ta-da."

The others stared. But the one they called Deadpool leaped to his feet and applauded like it was one of the most amazing things he had ever heard. Even if it was as confusing as sin, it made her feel better. Because if he was happy, he probably won't fire off any more shots or throw more plates through the window.

"That was beautiful, Christine! You have the voice of an angel."

"…thank you?"

"I could listen to you sing songs about alcohol until my ears bled. And even after they finished bleeding, I would continue to listen. Your voice is heavenly! Magnificent! It is—"

In the middle of his speech, the angry, hairy one growled something fierce. Jumping to his feet, six metal claws popped out and he was swinging the blades at Deadpool. Christine nearly fainted when he cut off the madman's arm, sending it flopping on the table in three different pieces.

It was kind of funny when Deadpool screamed like a girl, though.

But beyond his girlish squeal, no one else really reacted. The one in the funny glasses looked mildly disgusted but no one really cared about the dismembered arm on the table. The angry one just glowered at Deadpool.

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Not while I'm awake," he answered easily. He sat down and picked up the pieces of his arm, looking at them like the pieces of a puzzle. "Christine, can we get the shots?"

"Oh. Yeah. Yes, Mr. Deadpool."

The men went on with their conversation while Christine went to work on getting their drinks. When she glanced over, she saw Deadpool putting the three pieces of his arm back on. He was frowning, twisting and turning the dismembered pieces until they made the right fit and mumbling to himself quietly.

"So why aren't you drinking, pretty boy?" Wade asked.

"I am drinking," Remy answered, looking baffled. He glanced down, just to double check that he was, in fact, holding an alcoholic beverage.

"No. Not you pretty boy." Wade pointed his still unattached hand at Scott. "_That_ pretty boy."

Scott lifted his nose into the air, sniffling haughtily. "I'm not twenty-one. Therefore, I don't drink."

Silence stretched. A very long, very uncomfortable silence.

"You're serious?" John asked, looking angry. He began flicking his lighter faster and faster, an act that went unnoticed by no one. Remy nudged him. "You really are a dork."

"I am not a dork."

Remy clicked his tongue chidingly. "I dunno, Scooter. You ain't makin' a very strong case for yourself."

"You're just saying that because you drinking under the legal age."

"First of all," Remy began, ticking the points off on his fingers, "I'm twenty-three, you ragin' dork. Secondly, under-age drinkin' is the most minor of the many, _many_ illegal things I have done. Finally, pull the stick from your butt and relax."

Scott looked around him, his expression scandalized. "Logan, are you really going to condone this?"

The older man shrugged. "You need to let loose sometimes, Summers."

"Logan!"

Christine arrived at that moment, carrying a tray full of shots. She set them out around the table for the intoxicated men. The handsome one tipped his head at her.

"_Merci_," he drawled.

"You're welcome."

"Thanks, kid," the hairy one said.

"No problem."

"Thanks, shelia."

"Of course."

"Thanks," the one who wasn't drinking said, probably just to be polite.

"No problem."

She reached Deadpool, who had finally fastened his arm on securely. "You're a doll, Christine."

"…uh-huh."

"Hey! I got a great idea!"

"You always do," Logan grumbled.

"Christine," Wade began, placing a friendly hand on her feminine shoulder. She eyed it with trepidation. "Why don't you set our buddy Scott up with a drink to help him loosen up a bit, eh?"

"Okay. What should I get him?"

"Your finest appletini, my good sir!"

"Hey!" Scott hollered.

Remy and John snickered in the background.

"Yes, Mr. Deadpool." Christine gnawed on her lip, looking around the room nervously. She tucked a piece of her red hair behind her ear, forcing herself to smile her most charming smile. "Oh, Mr. Deadpool?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I was just wondering…will I be getting out of here soon? Not that I'm in a rush," she added hastily. "It's just…I have somewhere to be after I'm done being held hostage."

"Christine, I'm hurt!" He pressed a hand over his heart. "No one is holding you hostage."

"So can I go?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Where do ya gotta be anyway, shelia?"

She looked at John. A blush spread across her cheeks. "I have a date."

Remy and John shared a mischievous grin, nudging each other like two, drunken old friends. "Ooooohh," the called in unison. "A date. With who?"

"His name is Nick," she said, smiling bashfully. "He works here and I've liked him for awhile."

"Aw, _chere_, sounds like you got it bad."

"I do."

"Does the bloke like you?"

Her smile slipped away. "Well…."

"Uh oh."

"Not good."

"Poor girl."

"Aw, Christine."

"An appletini? Seriously?"

Another bullet zoomed by Scott's face, lodging itself in the wall behind his head. Slowly, he turned to Wade. Once again, he had a smoking gun pointed at him. Right between his eyes.

And once again, his so-called teammates did nothing but throw back more shots.

"Boy Scout," Wade began, his voice chiding, "Christine was talking. It's very rude of you to try and change the subject."

"Sorry," Scott mumbled.

Another shot was fired, sounding like thunder in Scott's ears. He was going to go death before the night was over.

"I'm sorry, Boy Scout. But I don't think Christine heard your apology. Would you mind repeating yourself a little louder?"

Scott swallowed. Loudly.

Remy giggled.

"I'm very sorry for interrupting you, Christine."

"It's okay."

"There we go." Deadpool lowered the gun. "You were saying, Christine?"

"Well….I really like this guy, Nick. And I know we're friends and all." She shrugged helplessly. "But I can't really tell how much he likes me."

John slammed his now empty shot glass down on the table. "Man oh man shelia, can I relate."

"Wait. So Pyro can interrupt and it's no big deal but if I do I get shot at?"

Once again, Scott was shot at. He raised his hands defensively, unsure of what his offense was this time.

"Boy Scout, John was speaking. You really have to watch your manners. Christine, grab the boy an appletini and then pull up a chair, kiddo. "

The waitress rushed off. The attention was returned to John, who continued to flick his lighter.

"You were saying?"

He adopted a dreamy expression. It could have been all the alcohol. But somehow, everyone knew it was something more. He smiled languorously.

"Well, her name is Wanda…."

**XXXXX**

**Isn't it sad that the song Deadpool made Christine sing is a real song? Poor Christine. I think she's our new, Mick-like character. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Yay! New chapter!**

**I have to say. This story is fun. It's not my best writing but I most certainly am enjoying myself. And I'm glad you all are too. **

**To clear up any confusion, this is NOT set in the Knee High Socks universe. This is a story all on its own. It almost became a part of that community but I decided I needed a break before I dive in to another twenty-some chapter story that will inevitably be Thigh High Boots. **

**BlueFox: yes, I saw the Hulk vs… movies. I totally was basing that last scene off of one of the moments in the movie. And I'll be sure to send you summary sometime this weekend. **

**Lina: in the Knee High Socks stories, Remy is about twenty three and Rogue nineteen going on twenty. Ish. **

**black rose-raven angel: don't worry. Nick will make an appearance at some point, too. **

**And onward we go!**

**XXXXX**

"Wait just one second," Scott said as Christine placed a lime green drink in front of him before taking a seat herself. "You mean Wanda Maximoff? Like…the Scarlet Witch? Magneto's daughter?"

John sighed happily. "Yeah. Isn't she just a dream?"

"That's one word for it," Remy mumbled under his breath, throwing back another shot.

"I heard that LeBeau."

Remy shrugged, leaning back in his seat to get comfortable. He already knew from prior experience that they were in for a long story. He was just grateful that he had alcohol to help him through this.

"What's she like, John?" Christine asked. She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands. What surprised the men at the table was that she sounded genuinely interested in the pyromaniac's love life.

"Moody. Mostly the moods range from angry to really angry. She's wilder than a dingo with a meth problem. Her eyes are just so filled with rage. Her voice is like the most precious, melodious bells being shattered into a million pieces. It's almost as if…." He sighed. "As if God and Satan got together and decided to collaborate when creating the most angelic, most terrifying creature on the face of the earth. That's my Wanda."

He finished his impassioned speech another shot, then looked to four men and single woman around the table for their reactions. Remy looked bored, having heard all this before. Logan looked…uninterested, which wasn't all that surprising. He couldn't really see Wade's reaction, due to the mask. And Scott was too busy tentatively sipping his appletini, looking pleased.

And Christine looked as if a spider had just crawled into her mouth and made itself quite comfortable there.

"Oh." She cleared her throat and made an attempt to smile. "She sounds…."

"Just like my type!" Wade interrupted.

"This appletini is kind of yummy," Scott murmured to no person in particular.

"Is she hot?" Wade went on.

John pulled out his lighter, flickering it open. He stared at the flame with the kind of adoration that solidified the fact that he was quite insane. "Hotter than fire."

In unison, Remy and Logan groaned. Scott sipped his appletini. Christine scratched her head.

"Um. Um…wow, John. Just wow." She dared to reach out and place her hand over John's. "So, you really like this Wanda girl?"

"I feel like we could light the world on fire and watch it burn." He grinned. "Together."

Wade placed a hand over his heart. "Awww. That has to be the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Besides, of course, the musical styling of Justin Bieber." He pulled out his katana and stared at it thoughtfully. "But I don't like that Kristen Stewart girl. Or her teeth…."

Everyone, save for Logan, stared at Wade, who continued to stare at his frightening blade. Christine, with eyes wide, decided to turn her attention to the slightly less crazy person in the room.

"So, John. What are you gonna do about Wanda?"

He snapped his lighter shut. "I dunno, shelia. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Oh, John…."

"Seriously. This appletini is _really _good." Scott hiccupped, giggled, then looked at the waitress. "Thank you, Chris."

She grinned. "You're welcome, Scott."

"May I have another?"

"Of course."

"How're those chimichangas comin', Chrissy?" Wade asked, still looking at his blade. He looked up at vaguely pointed it at her. "Will you go check for me, darlin'?"

"…yes, Mr. Deadpool."

She raced into the kitchen, leaving the men alone once more. The men stared at one another for a few very long, very awkward moments. Wade was the one who decided to break the silence.

"How're you likin' that appletini, pretty boy?"

"Hey! Remy don' drink appletinis!"

"Not you, pretty boy." He pointed his katana at Scott. "_That _pretty boy. I know you don't drink them."

Remy nodded approvingly, getting comfortable in his seat once more. "Damn straight."

"This appletini is _sooooo _good," the X-Man slurred, smiling goofily.

XXXXX

Christine returned to the dining room with another appletini for Scott and some spinach dip to hold the boys over until the chimichangas were done. They were still cooking, the cooks now terrified to create anything but pure, unadulterated perfection.

She hoped Mr. Deadpool wouldn't mind too much.

Last time she was in the dining room, the men were drinking and bonding over John's would be lover. John himself was mopey but she assumed that was because he was off his face. But when she returned, the Australian was lying with his face on the table.

Sobbing.

Her feminine desire to help became downright overwhelming in that moment. She rushed to the table with the others, who watched their freaky friend with bored expressions. Especially Remy, who was supposed to be his "best mate" or whatever.

"What happened?" she asked, setting the food down carelessly before passing Scott his drink.

Remy looked up. "Oh. This?" He waved it off casually. "This happens every time he gets a little drunk. Gets all love sick 'fore he starts cryin'. Don' worry 'bout it."

Christine most certainly was going to worry.

She placed a gentle hand on John's shaking shoulders, which almost seemed to make him cry harder. Remy rolled his eyes and began sampling the dip. Scott was already drinking his appletini with renewed enthusiasm. Logan was drinking and frowning, the same thing he'd done since he walked in the door. And….

And Wade was laughing at John.

"What's the matter, John?"

He lifted his head to look at her. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes filled with a mix of heartache and craziness. It made Christine feel both sad and frightened.

But then she had been pretty on edge ever since the man in the red and black mask walked in the door earlier so she was kind of getting used to it.

"Shelia," the Aussie slurred. He was drunk. _Really _drunk. "I think I love Wanda."

"Awww…."

"But every time I try to get close to her, she just gets angry and tries to set my hair on fire. Don't get me wrong. I love fire. If lightin' my hair on fire makes my Wanda happy, then I would go bald for her."

"Oh. Well. Um. That's very sweet, John."

He wailed in agony, lying back down on the table.

"Ya don't understand, Chris," he sniffled. "I don't want her to set me on fire 'cause she's mad. I want her to do it _affectionately_."

"Uh…."

"That is so touching," Wade announced in between shoving chips and spinach dip into his mouth. "Tell me something, John, you pyromaniac after my own heart."

"What?"

"Would you catch a grenade for Wanda?" he asked, looking at the one he had attached to his uniform.

He nodded sadly. "Oy, mate, I would."

"How 'bout throw your hand on blade for her?"

"I would."

"Jump in front of train?"

"Yes."

"You would really do anything for her, huh?"

"Yes."

"Would you go through all this pain for her?"

"Without a doubt."

Wade considered one of his guns. "Take a bullet through the brain for her?"

"Oh, shut up," Christine snapped, having no patience for Wade and his stupid song lyrics. It was only after she snapped at him did she realize _oh crap_. He was staring at her with alarming intensity, his scarred mouth pulled into a thin line. And he had weapons.

So many weapons.

She cleared her throat. "Please, Mr. Deadpool," she added.

The thin line of his mouth twitched upward into a freakishly huge smile. "Well, since you said please." He then proceeded to fight with Remy over who would get more spinach dip.

With that crisis narrowly avoided, Christine refocused her attention on the man with the aching heart. She ran her fingers through his flaming hair. She wasn't very good at comfort but whenever she ran her fingers through a man's hair, it seemed to make him feel at least marginally better.

So she did that and hoped for the best.

Eventually, after several minutes of finger combing, John manages to reduce his wails to a series of sniffles. He lifted his head once more, revealing blood shot eyes and a runny nose. More for her stomach's sake rather than his emotional well being, she handed him a napkin so he could quickly deal with the nose problem.

So gross.

"I'm sorry I'm such a wreck, Chris," he mumbled.

"_Oui_, you are."

Christine turned to glare at the Cajun. "Shut up, Remy."

John nodded in agreement, poking his tongue out. "Yeah. You heard the lady. Shut up, Remy."

Remy stuck his tongue out also, then hiccupped. The waitress rolled her eyes, then returned her attention to the distraught Aussie.

"I know exactly how you feel, John."

The look of hope that came to life in his eyes was akin to that in a five year old.

One psychotic but adorable little five year old.

"Really?" he asked in a small voice.

"Totally. This whole thing with Nick…. Sometimes I just wanna pull my hair out and scream in frustration. Sometimes I just wanna cry."

"Really?"

"Well…." She chewed on her lip for a few seconds. "No."

"Oh."

"But only to the last part."

"Oh," he said a little happier.

Christine sighed for dramatic effect. She glanced around the men in the room. "I sure could use a little help in regards to my love life….." She trailed off, hoping someone would take the bait.

Logan burped. Scott giggled.

And that was it.

She sighed. Seeing as how they would be of no help, she turned her attention back to John.

"Do you want my advice?"

Remy began shaking his head rapidly. Due to him being intoxicated, at one point he shook it a little too vigorously and slammed his noose into the wall behind his seat. He swore in a different language, rubbed his nose a little, frowned, seeming to think about what he was going to say in the first place, remembered then pointed a finger at Christine.

"_Non_," he garbled.

"_Non_?"

He shook his head and crossed his arms. "_Non._"

"Why?"

"'Cause Remy here been givn' his ol' buddy John the best advice in the book. And do he listen to me?" He shook his head. "_Non_, he doesn'. All he does is sit 'round and mope and complain and cry and cry and cry some more."

In a lagrant display of most certainly having a few screws loose, a disheartened and inebriated John took one of his many shot glasses and tossed it directly at his friend's head. Under normal circumstances, Remy LeBeau would have easily ducked the shot. Or at least caught it, charged it, thrown it back at John and watch it blow up in his face.

But on this particular drunken day, the Cajun's reaction time was much slower. Which is why the shot glass made direct contact with forehead and bounced off with a painful sounding thud.

"_Merde_! Ow!"

Scott giggled and took another sip of his appletini.

"What the hell, John? What was that for?"

"That was for bein' a hypocrite," he answered, folding his arms in front of him haughtily. He glanced at Christine from the corner of his eye. "He talks 'bout me but you should hear the bloke. Rogue this and Rogue that. Blah, blah, blah. The dame is all he ever talks 'bout."

Across the table, Logan growled under his breath but said nothing.

Christine, having become accustomed to the hairy man's angry animal exclamations ignored this and looked at Remy with renewed interest.

"Who's Rogue?"

It was his turn to adopt that very same dreamy look that had decorated John's features not so long ago.

"She's the woman who stole this thief's heart," he replied, sighing heavily.

Wade snorted. "Yeah. She musta took your ability to think of original, nonstupid or mushy things to say."

"Shut up, Wilson."

"Love you too, Remy," he responded, as if he hadn't heard what Remy had told him. Maybe he had heard and just chose to ignore it.

Yeah. That was probably it.

John nudged Christine. "You think I'm bad. Just take a listen to this sap."

Remy leaned back, adopting a distant expression. As if he were remembering something vividly that only he could see.

"It all started wit' this little trip down to Louisiana…."


	4. Chapter 4

**I'm baaaaaackkk.**

**With a new chapter so let's get right to it.**

**Thanks for all the reviews, btw.**

**XXXXX**

"I'm sorry but did I really just hear that story right?"

Remy gave Christine a funny look. "What's the problem?"

"I'm just having trouble wrapping my head around what you just said. It's very…complicated."

"What's complicated 'bout it? It's a love story 'bout a man who tried to blow off a woman's hand and later took her on vacation to Louisiana after he decided he fancied her."

"You kidnapped her," Logan reminded him grumpily.

"And you lied to her," Scott added.

"There were alligators too."

"And she can't touch."

Remy scoffed. "Details."

"If you think that's bad," Wade added for Christine's ears only. "You should find out who Rogue is currently boinking in the comic universe. I'll give you a hint." He leaned in to whisper in her ear. "It's Magneto."

Christine just blinked at him in confusion. "…huh?"

"Just ignore him," Logan barked. Remy nodded in agreement.

"Sometimes he jus' starts goin' on and on 'bout comics and the fourth wall and Ryan Reynolds. He's a little outta it."

"You should listen to me, LeBeau. I know all sorts of stuff you'd wanna know. Like which actor played you in the movie. And lemme tell ya. You'd be disappointed." Wade looked to Logan. "But you. You'd be happy."

"If you don't shut up Wilson, I swear I will shove a claw through your brain."

Wade giggled. "Last time you did that, it tickled."

Logan sighed.

"Um...can we get back to the subject?" Christine asked timidly.

"What was the subject again?" Scott said.

"Rogue," John answered.

Remy sighed dreamily. "Rogue."

"Right. Rogue." Christine looked back at Remy. "So…you love her?"

"_Oui_. I would love her even if she _was _sleepin' wit' Magneto." Remy scoffed haughtily. "Not like that'd happen. I mean, have you _seen _me?"

Christine took the opportunity to sigh herself. "Yes. I have."

Remy winked at her. She blushed.

Logan growled. Scott looked over the rim of his glass to bestow a chiding look upon his fellow X-Man.

"That…that's yo' problem, LeeBow," Scott slurred, pointing a shaky finger at Remy. "Yo' a flirt an' nothin' but a dirty, dirty flirt."

"At least I'm not a piece of yuppie scum who can't hold his liquor," Remy threw back, smirking slightly.

"I can tootally hold my liquor!" He lifted his half empty glass. "See! I'm holdin' it right now."

Logan sighed but said nothing. John snickered.

"An' stop tryin' to change the subject, LeeBow," Scott continued.

"It's LeBeau," Remy corrected.

"That's what I said. LeeBow."

"LeBeau."

Scott snorted. "Whatever. It's a stupid name anyway." With that said, he threw back the last of his third appletini and returned his attention to his teammate. "Yo' a flirt, LeeBow."

"How 'bout you jus' call me Remy?"

"Yo' a flirt Reemy."

The Cajun sighed.

"The first day you got to the mansion, all you did was flirt."

"You make it sound like it's my fault that I was born so terribly charmin'."

Logan snorted to stifle a laugh. Remy cast a glare his way but the older man ignored him completely. The tiny, self-indulgent smile on his face did not go unnoticed by Remy though.

"You aren't charmin, Reemy."

"How 'bout you jus' call me Cajun?"

"You aren't charmin', Keejun."

Remy sighed. Scott continued.

"You know what you are?"

"What?"

"A man whore!"

John and Christine gasped. Logan smiled a little larger. And even though Wade's eyes were hidden behind his mask, Christine would swear she saw them light up with childlike glee.

"Oh snap," the mercenary exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

Remy slammed a fist on the table, shaking the drinks on the table. "You take that back, Summers!"

"Man whore!" he yelled, louder this time.

Wade bounced in his seat. "Oh snap."

"Loser!"

"Man whore!"

"Shut up!"

"Man whore, man whore, man whore!"

"Oh snap."

"I ain't a man whore!"

Scott pretended to consider Remy's proclamation. "Yo' right. Yo' a _slut_!"

Wade gasped. "Oh snap!"

This was apparently the straw that broke the camel's back. Remy jumped to his feet and leaned over the table so he was face to face with Scott, his red and black eyes narrowed and glowing. Scott stared back, almost unwavering.

The alcohol was causing him to waver just slightly, though.

"You wanna say that 'gin to my face, Boy Socut?" Remy growled.

Scott leaned in a little closer until his nose brushed Remy's.

"Are you two gonna kiss?" Wade asked.

He was ignored.

Scot maintained eye contact for several long, tense seconds before he opened his mouth to speak.

"_**Slut**_."

The silence grew heavier. Longer. The tension could be cut with one of one of Wade's katanas. Everyone waited to see what Remy would do with baited breath. It was an eternity before the Cajun made his move.

Remy lifted his hand.

Christine winced, afraid.

The Cajun then proceeded to take his lifted hand and ever so casually tipped over the last of Scott's appletini, sending it spilling across the table in a lime green puddle.

"OH SNAP!" Wade squealed.

"My appletini!" Scott squeaked. Remy smiled with satisfaction when he saw the other man's eyes grow wide behind his ruby visors. He sat back to enjoy the sight of Scott trying to somehow scoop his spilled drink back into his glass. "You monster! How could you!"

"Monster? I thought I was a slut?"

"Boys," Christine said trying to get their attention.

"I hate you!" Scott cried.

"Aw. My feelin's."

"Uh, boys…."

"You aren't a slut."

"_Non_?"

"_Non_," Scott mocked. "You're the devil."

"Boys," she said a little louder, waving her hands in a futile attempt to get their attention.

"Ain't the first time I heard that," Remy drawled, sounding bored.

"Boys!"

"Devil!"

Christine opened her mouth to yell once more, only the sounds of three bullets being shot through the restaurant ceiling interrupted her. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, under the table, making her peace with god.

Because clearly, she was going to die.

She was going to die in a room with drunk superheroes and an insane mercenary and she wouldn't even have kissed Nick.

That sucked.

"Gentleman!" Wade yelled, firing off another shot. "I believe our darling Christine was trying to get our attention. Now, Christine if you would…hey. Where'd she go?"

The men shuffled about a little bit before Wade poked his head under the table. He waved jovially at her.

"Oh, there you are! Hi, Christine!"

She squeaked.

"What are you doing under there?"

She opened her mouth to speak. The only sound that came out was another, terrified, tiny squeak.

Wade stuck out his hand, an offer. "Get back up here, silly pickle."

She blinked. "Silly pickle?"

He laughed, shaking his hand as an indicator that she should hurry and take it. Deciding it would be better not to reject his offer in case he pulled out another one of his other, scary, pointy knives, she placed her small hand in his and allowed him to gently pull her back to her feet.

"Thank you," she mumbled, dusting herself off.

Wade did a lavish bow.

She looked at Remy and Scott, who were sitting at opposite ends of the table. Not making eye contact. Pouting. She restrained the impulse to roll her eyes at the drunk men. Instead, she careful took a seat and looked back at Remy.

"Now. What's the problem with Rogue?"

He turned to face her but did not stop pouting. "I care 'bout her, right?"

"Right."

"I tell her I care 'bout, right?"

"Right."

"Even though I flirt wit' others," he said, cutting his eyes at Scott, "I make sure she knows that I only got red 'n' black eyes for her, right?"

"Right."

"I think she knows I care, but I don' think she know jus' how much I care 'bout her." His pout morphed into a pathetic little frown. "And Remy don' know how to tell her."

"Awww, Remy…."

"I jus' don' know what to do, Chris."

"Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah," Scott interrupted. He looked at Christine. "I'm _waaaaay _worse than Reemy."

"_Mon Dieu_, please stop sayin' my name…."

"Scott," Christine said patiently, "Remy is still talking. Why don't you wait your turn?"

Scott responded to this by taking his now empty appletini glass and throwing it on the table. It didn't break but it did crack.

"NO!" the X-Man yelled. "He spilled my drink so it's my turn!"

"Okay, okay, okay! Geez." Christine rubbed her temples, the beginning of a migraine creeping into her skull. "Tell me about your love life, Scott."

"Her name is Jean Grey and I love her…."


	5. Chapter 5

**Who has two thumbs and got stuck in flash flood in high heels for five hours? This chick. **

**Am I a trooper or what?**

**But enough about that. On to your always wonderful and appreciated reviews. **

**BlueFox: I thought I was the only one who hopped on Deviant art. And I think you should be quite pleased with this chapter. Also. I haven't sent you a summary yet. But I will. I'm just so, terribly lazy. **

**Hope Hannigan: why thank you = )**

**Zany: glad you caught the Hugh Jackman reference. Your reenactment of the fight was hilarious. **

**Keep reviewing guys. They not only encourage me but they're so funny and helpful. Thank you for all the support. As my way of saying thanks, I shall give you another hint about Thigh High Boots.**

**My little, unhelpful hint: say hello to The Avengers….**

**XXXXX**

"Remy don' know what the problem wit' you and Ginger could be—"

"Did ya jus' call my girlfriend a ginger?"

"_Non_. I called her Ginger. There's a difference."

"Really?"

"_Non_, not really. But seriously. You and Jeanie got the perfect relationship."

"Aye, man. You're too whipped to be anythin' but happy," John added.

"I am not whipped!"

"_Oui_, you are."

"Aye, you are."

Scott pouted, looking toward the older X-Man in desperation. "Logan?"

"You're whipped, Boy Scout."

Christine could have sworn she saw Scott's lip quiver and eyes begin to water but the X-Man managed to compose himself before she could be absolutely sure.

"Don' make that face, Scotter. You and Ginger got it good."

"In this universe," Wade said idly, admiring his katana with boredom. "But in the main one, you two are screwed."

Everyone stared at the mercenary for a pregnant moment.

"Is this another one of those 'we're all comic book character' things?" Christine said.

"Yes."

"Are you going to elaborate?"

"Yes."

"Even if I ask you not to?"

"Yes."

Christine sighed. "Go ahead then."

"Oh, yay! Story time!" Wade giggled and clapped his hands. "Well, if things turn out like they do in the comics, Jean will die."

Scott gasped, pressing a hand to his heart.

"Don't worry. She'll be fine. She comes back. Always does."

Scott relaxed. "…that's good then."

"Not really. You're gonna cheat on her."

Scott gasped.

"With a hot blonde."

His jaw dropped.

"With _huge _implants," Wade went on, gesturing at his chest.

Remy and John smiled.

"Then Jean dies again."

Another gasp.

"And you make out on her grave with the hot blonde." Wade smiled smugly. "The end."

John threw his head back and laughed. He slung an arm around Scott's shoulder, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "Way to go, Boy Scout. Didn' know ya had it in ya."

"Very classy," Remy added with heavy sarcasm.

Scott shook his head earnestly, looking overly distressed. "I would never do that."

"_Oui_, you would."

"Aye, mate. You totally would."

"Christine, you don't think I would do that, do you?"

She lifted her hands defensively, shaking her head. "Hey. Whoa. I don't know you like that. I don't know you well enough to make that judgment."

"Logan?" Scott turned to him once more, chin quivering. Logan simply lifted an eyebrow, giving the younger man a look that spoke volumes. "Um. Nevermind."

Logan just nodded approvingly at the decision.

"Man," Scott whined, his shoulder slumping as he stared sullenly into his empty appletini glass, "this sucks."

Christine placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, rubbing him soothingly. "It's okay, Scott. What Wade said occurred in an alternate reality. Not this one. That means it doesn't have to happen so you shouldn't have to worry about it too much." She smiled softly. "Besides. This is Wade we're talking about."

"Hey! Are you trying to say I'm a mentally unstable, unreliable source?" he asked indignantly.

Christine nodded without hesitation. "Yes. Yes I am."

Wade shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Can we get back to the point?"

"What was the point again?"

"Boy Scout an' how he's gonna cheat on his lady."

"I'm not going to cheat on Jean!"

"Not yet."

"Shut up!"

"No!" Christine yelled. "No more fights. No more spilled appletinis. No more interruptions." She whipped around to point a finger at Wade, who had opened his mouth behind his mask. How she knew that he was about to speak, no one was quite sure. "Yes. Even you, Wade."

He tilted his head to side thoughtfully "Did _you _just tell _me _what to do?"

Christine seemed to realize this, her angry demeanor disappearing instantly. She bit her lip. "Um…yes?"

Wade nodded. "Sassy. I like it." He waved a hand at her. "Proceed."

"Um…" She looked back at Scott. "Proceed."

"Well…Jean and I have known each other for a long time."

"Uh huh."

"And Jean is my best friend."

"Uh huh."

"And we finally got together awhile ago."

"After _years _of sexual tension," Logan added, speaking up for one of the few times in the strange encounter.

"Was it that obvious?"

"Yeah, bub."

"Aye."

"_Oui_."

"How would you know, Gambit?" Scott demanded, gesturing wildly. "You weren't even apart of the team when me and Jean were still friends."

"So?"

How was anyone supposed to argue with the flawless logic of Remy LeBeau?

"You were saying, Scott?" Christine urged.

"Me an' Jean finally got together and since then everything been perfect."

"Even when Ginger became a horseman for Apocalypse?" Remy asked.

Scott made an exasperated noise. "You weren't there for that either!"

"So?"

"Remy, please. No more interruptions."

"_Desole, chere_."

"Besides," Wade interjected, "you are the last person who should be talkin' 'bout being a horseman for Apocalypse, LeBeau."

"This 'nother one of those comic book things, Wadey?"

"Yup."

"Boys, Scott was still talking."

"_Desole_."

"Sorry, Chris."

"You were saying, Scott?"

"Well, ever since me an' Jean got together things have been perfect."

"I'm not really seeing a problem then," the red head exclaimed.

"The problem is things are perfect and…." Scott blushed. "And I can't tell her that."

Christine blinked at him in a confused daze. "Huh?"

"I can't tell her that."

"That you have fun with her?"

"It's a little more than that…."

"You like her?"

"Getting warmer…."

"Oh." Christine pressed a delicate hand over her heart. "Oh, Scott. You love her and you can't tell her that. How sweet."

Wade, Remy, and John apparently did not share this sentiment. Or, at least, Christine assumed they did. For all three men threw their heads back and laughed as if they had just heard the joke of a lifetime. And when the laughter had yet to cease after two minutes, the waitress actually began to feel sympathy for the poor X-Man. She cast a glare at the other three men.

"Stop being so insensitive, you guys."

Remy was the one who managed to compose himself first. "_Desole_, _chere_. It's jus' hard to feel sympathy for a fella who got himself a wonderful girl who don' threaten his existence on a daily basis."

"Or who doesn't light his hair on fire."

"Or who…wait." Wade scratched his head. "Do I have girl?"

"_Non_."

"Aww…."

"Boys."

"Sorry, Chrissy." John flicked his lighter with agitation. "It's just hard to feel bad for a fella who has the world and beautiful gal at his feet. If I was with Wanda, I'd tell her the second I had the chance to."

"If I didn' think Rogue would knock me into next week, I'd tell her too."

"You could be a little more sensitive about Scott's situation, guys. He deserves your sympathy."

Logan slammed his glass onto the table. Hard. He did not turn to face the others. He just remained where he was, staring stonily ahead.

"No," he grumbled, his voice cold and unforgiving. "He doesn't."

Then he lifted his glass to his lip and continued to drink.

Everyone stared. He ignored them.

They stared some more.

Logan rolled his eyes, his lips curling up in annoyance.

"You are _not_," he barked, "gettin' me to open up and participate in this stupid, romantic story hour."

Christine then took it upon herself to dip her head so that she might peek up at the gruff man through her long lashes, her sapphire eyes compelling. Logan remained unflinching, undeterred by her pleading eyes.

But then she poked out her lush bottom lip and he was through.

He sighed in defeat. "It ain't much of a love life to speak of…."


	6. Chapter 6

**Wow. It's been a **_**long **_**time. **

**I'm so sorry, guys! I mean, sorry. Not a day went by where I didn't feel guilty for not updating this. I've never gone so long without an update. But I just moved to a new city, started my freshman year of college, and started a new job. To say I've been busy is an understatement. The only reason I had time to finish this is because I got sick.**

**All I can say is that I will try not to EVER go so long without updating again. But at the same time, my life is super crazy right now. Good news is it's given me a lot of time to really work on the plot to Thigh High Boots. **

**Always a silver lining!**

**Thanks for sticking with me guys and I am sincerely, deeply sorry. I really am. Like. I REALLY REALLY am.**

**XXXXX**

"Remy didn' know you had much of a love life, Wolvie."

"For some reason, women are put off by a short man with anger issues, war flashbacks, and metal claws," Logan drawled dryly. "Don't know why."

"Baffles the mind," Christine added sarcastically. She was happy to see that Logan actually smiled at her little joke. "But there have been women in your life?"

Logan nodded. "I'm over a hundred years old, kid. It's kinda hard to _not _have formed some sorta romance in all those years." He frowned heavily. "Problem is they never last."

"Why?"

'They all die."

Christine's heart stuttered a little at the way Logan admitted this. "…oh."

"Or," he went on, scratching his head, "at least the ones I can remember. There are big gaps in my memory and I only get…feelin's some of them even existed. I dunno. My brains been messed with so much, maybe none of them were real."

He set down his Jack Daniels, starring broodingly at something only he could see.

"I kinda remember a woman…red hair. Long red hair."

"Jean?" Scott asked nervously.

Logan snapped out of his trance long enough to cast a withering glower at the younger man. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I'm attracted to Red, boy scout."

For reasons no one else understood, Wade threw his head back and laughed like he had just heard the joke of a lifetime but said nothing else. With only a raised eyebrow and a slight shudder, the group returned their attention to Logan.

"I wish I could remember her better. But I can't. All I see is…" He squinted. He looked as though he were seeing it in that very moment. "So much hair." He squeezed his eyes shut. "She died. Pretty sure it was my fault."

"Did you kill her?" John asked.

"Yeah. Wait…no. I didn't. But…I think I did. Not on purpose, I guess. I don't know. And the crazy part is, I don't know if I really want to know either."

"Why?" Christine whispered. She wanted to reach out and touch him, hoping to offer the smallest form of comfort possible but she was unsure if her touch was wanted from the gruff man.

"Would you want to know if you were responsible for someone you love's death?"

"Oh. Um…I don't know…."

"Exactly. But there's another. A girl I do remember." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I remember her like it was yesterday. Who I loved in another lifetime. She died too…. I know I killed her." He glanced at his audience. "But for mercy, that time. I swear. She was gonna die not matter what and she…begged me….to make it faster and less….she begged me…."

Unable to stop herself a moment longer, Christine laid a delicate hand on his very hairy arm. "Logan, you don't have to tell us any—"

"Let me finish kid," he interrupted, but not unkindly.

"Okay."

She started to retract her hand, but for just one fleeting moment, so fast she could have imagined it, Logan gave her a tiny smile. It honestly could have been her imagination, but she decided she could be bold and leave it there.

He didn't seem to mind too much, anyway.

Logan went on. "There was my Fox."

"You dated a fox once?" Wade asked, smirking behind his mask.

Without blinking, Logan lifted the hand Christine was not touching and shoved his middle claw through Wade's skull. Scott and Christine screamed. Remy examined something under his nail. John clapped with approval.

And Wade giggled.

"That tickles," he commented idly. "Shh…I can hear my brain healing…."

Logan rolled his eyes and retracted the claw, setting his bloodied hand back on the table. Of all the thoughts that could have crossed Christine's mind in that moment, her first thought was that she would have to clean that up later. Her next thought was to wonder what she could use to get blood stains off the table.

"I loved a woman named Fox," Logan continued as if he hadn't just shoved an indestructible blade through another man's skull. "Silver Fox. I can feel it in my bones."

"When you say you can feel it in your bones," Wade began, dabbing at his head wound with a napkin, "do you mean the top part of your bones that covered in metal? Or do you mean your actual bones? The boney bones? Or bone marrow?"

"Wade, shut up," Christine snapped. "_Please_."

"Yes, sir!"

"You were saying, Logan?"

"That may have been the happiest time of my life…." He trailed off.

"But…?" the waitress probed. Because obviously there was a but following his proclamation.

"But let's just say the relationship ended violently, kid." He made a face. "If it even existed in the first place. Which it may not have."

"How do you not know?"

Logan smirked bitterly. "That's one long story I ain't gettin' into kid."

The smirk disappeared in the blink of an eye. In the same instant, he spun around to face Scott. His eyes were ablaze with ferocity and unforgiving rage. He pointed a blood stained finger at the X-Man.

"Which is why you ain't gettin' my sympathy, Boy Scout," he snapped, his words clipped. "'Cause no matter how it turned out with all those women in my past, I know in my gut each and every one of them knew _exactly _how I felt 'bout them. 'Cause I let them know every chance I got. 'Cause I know how quickly things can get bad and it's important to let them know. So even if I can't quite remember them and I ain't quite sure if it was real, I know I tried. I know they knew.

"You got a great girl in front of you. I put up with you dancin' 'round your feelin's for years. Now you got Red and can't suck it up, grow some balls, and spit out some words? And you think you deserve sympathy from any one of the men seated at this table who's women don't even like them?"

"Hey, now. I wouldn't say Wanda doesn't like me…."

"Rogue likes me. Jus'…in a violent way."

Christine shushed them.

"You don't deserve sympathy," Logan finished, picking up his Jack Daniels. "You don't even deserve a penis."

With that, he went back to nursing his drink and for the most part, ignoring those seated around him. Carefully, so not to get an appendage chopped off, Christine took her hand back.

Silence stretched.

And stretched.

And continued to stretch.

Then, somewhere in the distance, a bell rang twice. Christine jumped to her feet so quickly, he chair fell backward. She did not make an attempt to right it.

"Chimichangas are done!" she announced with a strained smile. "I'm going to leave this room right now to get them so I don't have to be here for a second longer!"

She ran out the room at a speed that would have impressed Quicksilver.

And so the men remained in the miserable silence Logan brought on.

Remy lifted a hand to his ear.

"Anyone else hear dat?"

"Hear what?" Scott asked.

"The awkward silence."


	7. Chapter 7

**It's the update that you thought was never coming!**

**I know I've been gone for awhile. All I can say is that life has been not so kind to me lately. But, recently, things have finally slowed down enough for me to return my writing. And I am so very glad to be back because I missed you all dearly. **

**I can't promise I won't disappear again, but I can promise to try and not go so long between updates. **

**So, without further ado, the newest chapter of Girl Talk. **

**P.S.—I missed y'all like crazy. **

**XXXXX**

"Oh my god."

"_Mon Dieu_."

"Sweet baby Jesus."

"This is…."

"Great googly moogly."

Christine smiled proudly. "I guess that means you like them?"

Logan lifted his thunderstruck eyes to hers. "This literally is the best chimichanga I have ever tasted in my life." He leveled his gaze with the waitress's. "And I've been alive for a long time, bub."

"I'm glad you like it. What about you, Mr. Deadpool sir?"

When Wade did not answer immediately, Christine turned toward him. She was surprised to see him looking at his cell phone, his chimichanga sitting in front of him forgotten.

"Uh, Wade?"

He didn't look up from his phone. "Yes, sugar lips?"

Christine paused, trying to determine how she felt about the endearment. She decided it was best not to think about it too much.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Rereading this story on my phone. It's been so long since it was updated, I've lost track of what was happening," he answered simply.

The red head was beginning to wonder why she even bothered asking questions, knowing he would say something like that.

"Huh?"

He did not respond for a moment, his masked eyes scanning his cell phone before he snapped it shut and jumped to his feet. He pointed a gun to the ceiling.

"Right! Now I remember!"

With that, he shot a hole through the ceiling before pointing the gun at Scott. He shot, the bullet once again missing his face by a hair. Scott squealed through his mouthful of chimichanga, duking under the table.

Christine observed all of this with a raised eyebrow. "Was all of that really necessary, Wade?"

He looked at her, the gun, and then her again. In a voice so small, some of Christine's agitation couldn't help but ebb, he answered, "Yes…."

She was going to have the worst migraine before this day was over. "Wade?"

"Yes, pumpkin?"

"How's your chimichanga?"

He squealed with glee, throwing the gun in Remy's general direction. Before she could comprehend what had happened, Christine found herself in Wade's constricting embrace. His arms tightened around her in what had to have been the most uncomfortable bear hug of her life. Not that he seemed to notice. He was far too busy swinging her around in his arms excitedly.

"Oh, Chrissy, they are fabulous! I knew you had it in you."

"…can't…breathe…."

"Shhh…" He stroked her hair. "Don't speak. It'll ruin the moment."

She coughed, the last of her air abandoning her lungs. Wade smiled into her hair.

"Yes…that's perfect."

"Wilson, put the kid down," Logan barked, chomping down on his own chimichanga. "She's turning blue."

Christine was released. She immediately gasped, trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible. Wade looked down at her with an affectionate smile.

"You leave me breathless too, darling," he told her, patting her shoulder.

She glared at him, before returning to her seat next to Logan. Smoothing her hair down and drawing in a deep breath, she looked at the men around the table and recalled their twisted love lives. Her lips twisted in a wry smile.

"So," she began, folding her hands in front of her. "About your women…."

"Before we go on," Remy interrupted, "I would jus' like to point out that Wolvie—"

"Don't call me Wolvie."

"—left out a chunk of his love life."

Logan glared over at the Cajun. "What the hell are you talkin' 'bout, Gumbo?"

Remy shrugged casually. "Oh, nothin'. It's jus' Remy couldn' help but notice the way you been givin' ol' Stormy the eyes lately."

"Bullshit," Logan snapped.

"Language," Christine chimed in patiently.

"Actually," Scott slurred, tilting his head in thought, "now that you mention it, I have noticed you looking at Storm a little closely lately."

"I have not," Logan denied, but color rose in his cheeks. To everyone's utter delight, Logan was blushing.

John laughed, clapping his hands together. "Don't be ashamed, Badger. That weather witch is damn sexy."

"Don't talk about her like that!" the X-Man snapped, his eyes furious.

Christine and Deadpool placed a hand over their hearts. "Awww..."

Logan realized how his outburst seemed to incriminate him and quickly settled down, staring intently at his bottle of Jack. The color in his cheeks only grew more prominent. "Shut up," he grumbled.

"I think it's sweet," Christine assured him. He only grunted as a response. Rolling her eyes, she returned her attention to the other men in the room. "Okay, look. Here's what I think you all need to do."

She pointed a finger at John.

"Clearly, your Wanda is not the kind of girl who will swoon over flowers and chocolates and stuff. And from what you said, it sounds like you two are a little crazy together. So I think what you need to do is let your feelings be known in a way that is unique to you that Wanda will appreciate."

John pouted. "Like what?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Destroy a building in her name or something. Not that I'm advocating the destruction of public property," she hastily added, "but let her know that you understand she's chaotic and that's just the thing you love about her. And now you."

She pointed at Remy.

"You said your Rogue knows how you feel but not to what extent."

"_Oui_."

"Not that you are particularly nice to begin with, but I really think it's time you stop playing nice with her and make sure she knows exactly how you feel. Make the grand gesture, Remy. And please do so without tying her up and forcing her across state lines. Or blowing anything up."

He grinned at her. "No promises, _Cherie_."

"And Scott." She looked at the heavily intoxicated X-Man. "Look, you and Jean have clearly been through a lot. You don't seem particularly….likable—"

"_Thank you_!" Remy exclaimed in the background. He was ignored.

"—but Jean has picked to stay with you. So grow a pair and tell her you love her. And you."

She swung around to face Logan again. He growled at her.

"Err..." She hesitated. "Look: I'm not saying you have a crush on this Storm chick."

"He does," Scott and Remy said in unison.

"But _if _you do—hypothetically—then I don't think there's any harm in baby steps. There's no need to propose marriage or anything. I understand that with your..erm, history, you might be a little reluctant. But telling her she looks pretty might be a nice start, ya know?"

He didn't say anything. He continued to stare broodingly at his drink but Christine was pleased to see that his expression did soften ever so slightly. Satisfied that she had gotten to him just a little, she directed her attention towards Wade.

"And as for you, I think…." The words died on her lips. "Wait. Did you even tell us about your love life?"

Before she could receive an answer, the little restaurant began to shake violently. Everyone looked up, surprise decorating their features. It sounded as if a plane was landing not too far from where they stood. She looked at the X-Men in the room.

"I don't suppose any of you informed your teammates that everything was under control and that there was no need for back up." She lifted an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"Oh…."

'Um…."

"Opps."

Christine sighed. "Opps, indeed."

Without saying another word, the red head picked up her tray and got to work on cleaning the table off. She did not even look up or flinch when it sounded like an entire wall was blasted down and a parade of people stampeded into the room.

Honestly, she had been around so many random acts of violence, she may forever be immune.

Eventually though, she turned around and found what appeared to be all the X-Men gathered around staring at the group of heroes and villains eating chimichangas together and consuming copious amounts of alcohol. Most were standing in a position indicating they were ready for battle, but all their facial expressions were absolutely perplexed.

Well, at least they knew how she had felt all day.

Christine set her tray down and calmly walked over to where the X-Men stood. When she was close enough, she offered them her most dazzling smile.

"Hi, can I interest you in a table?"

The X-Men looked at each other, befuddled. Eventually, their gaze landed on her once more.

She lifted a menu. "How many?"

XXXXX

Not surprisingly, the X-Men did not stick around to eat.

They did however let their teammates box the remains of their chimichangas.

Christine watched with amusement as Logan, Remy, and Scott were fussed at for being so reckless. She couldn't help but note that the people fussing were Storm, Rogue, and Jean. She had no way to know for sure that it was them, but their interactions with the boys made it quite clear.

Eventually, she stepped in and explained all was well and there was no reason to be angry. She also made sure to point out that while Wade went about acquiring his chimichanga the wrong way, he meant no harm and there was no reason to attempt to apprehend him further. Though annoyed, the X-Men accepted their answer and prepared to drag their teammates, and John and Wade, home. Christine was sure that the whole ride home for Remy, Logan, and Scott would be one long, painful tongue lashing.

Christine happily escorted her new friends to the jet the X-Men arrived in. One by one, the heroes boarded. When it was only her drunken, girl talking companions left, she was surprised to feel a twinge of sadness.

"Well," she began, scuffing her shoes on the ground. "This was weird."

"Yup."

"Aye."

"_Oui_."

"Uh-huh," Scott slurred.

Wade just nodded.

"But it was kinda fun," she added after a moment. "As fun as being held hostage can be that is."

"Chrissy, sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you that just because I refused to let you leave and had many weapons on my person does not mean that you were held hostage," Wade reminded her patiently.

She rolled her eyes. "Right." She smiled sadly. "Well, you guys take care of yourself and uh…remember what I said about the girls."

They all cast a glance at Jean, Rogue, and Storm, who watched them intently.

"You guys could totally win those girls over, I'm sure of it."

They smiled. It was John that stepped forward and in a surprising act of tenderness, wrapped his arms around the waitress in a hug. Though startled at first, she softened and returned his embrace.

"Thanks, Sheila," he murmured before letting her go.

Scott quickly followed suit and hugged her too. When she was released, Remy took hold of her hand and bowed lavishly before bestowing a kiss on the back of her hand, winking at her.

She giggled.

Behind them, Rogue growled.

When Remy let her go, she was faced with Logan. They stared at each other curiously for a few moments, both aware that a hug was most definitely happening. Eventually though, he offered her the tiniest of smiles before ruffling her hair affectionately.

Normally, Christine did not like to have her hair mused, but for Logan, she simply laughed.

And then there was Wade.

She blinked up at him. "Well."

"I have a gift for you."

She was both excited and deeply terrified at the prospect. "Oh?"

"Yes."

He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a dagger. On the handle, was the same little Deadpool symbol he had on his belt. He dropped the frightening looking weapon into her hands. Christine's eyes widened in fear.

"Wade, I do not feel comfortable—"

He silenced her with a finger over her lips. "Shhh. Don't speak. It'll ruin the moment."

She rolled her eyes, looking down at the deadly weapon in her hands and back at him.

"I know you are hot for me," Wade continued, "and I can't blame you. But it would never work out for us. Just know, I'll always have a place for you in my heart, Chrissy."

He dropped his hand, freeing her to speak. Rather than fight it, Christine managed to grin up at the man that she had come to fear and care for. Standing tip-toe, she pressed a kiss to his masked cheek.

"Thanks, Wade."

XXXXX

Christine waved at the departing X-Jet until it was only a black speck in the darkening sky. Maybe she was crazy or feeling the beginnings of Stockholm Syndrome, but she was miss the oddball group.

She liked to believe that they were friends of sorts.

As she headed back into the restaurant to gather her things so she could finally go home, she suddenly remembered something. Gasping, she spun around so that was facing the direction of the disappearing jet.

"HEY!" She waved the blade Wade gave her wildly. "You bastards didn't tip me!"


	8. Chapter 8

**You guys were ready to give up on me!**

**No, no. The last chapter was not the last. In fact, we still have one, maybe two more left after this. I'm excited to power through these last few chapters because I am so ready to start Thigh High Boots. I'm really excited for it. There will be action, the reappearance of some old foes, some new baddies, adventure, romance, boots, Avengers, and the random appearance of Felicia Hardy. **

**I hope you're excited too. **

**But anyway. Onward to the next chapter. **

**XXXXX**

Wanda Maximoff was not sure why she was instructed to go to a local park by John, but he sounded so urgent about it, she grumpily left to see what all of the fuss was about.

But as she neared the park, she noticed that people were rapidly running in the opposite direction. In fact, they were outright running. And screaming. Curious, she looked into the distance and saw flames springing into the air. The flames were accompanied by John's very distinctive and very crazy laughter.

What the hell was he up to now?

Wanda elbowed her way through the crowds, growing closer to the source of the flames. Eventually, she found herself staring at John, who stood in front of a particularly large stretch of green grass. Or, at least, what was once a large stretch of grass. Now it had been scorched by John, an odd pattern of flames burning the ground. She approached the pyromaniac, seriously contemplating setting his hair on fire.

Again.

"What are you doing?" she barked.

John looked over his shoulder at Wanda, his mad grin dropping to a shy smile. "Oh. Wanda."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Why did you drag me out here?"

John looked into Wanda's expressive, angry eyes, his heart skipping. As was the norm, all words and coherent thought left him when he looked at the fiercely beautiful woman. He swallowed, remembering what Christine had told him.

So he numbly pointed to the fire burning on the grass. Wanda looked at it with narrowed eyes.

"What about it?" she asked, sounding impatient.

At will, John extinguished the fire. Wanda's eyes widened as it became clear.

He had burned something into the earth, for all to see. Blackened grass spelled out:

_I burn for you._

Wanda stared at it for a long time. She truly did not know how to respond. She wanted to mock him for being so terribly mushy. But something in her black heart seemed to protest this. In fact, she felt something rather not…angry. It was a pleasant little feeling, spreading from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.

Wanda Maximoff found herself blushing at John's proclamation.

She turned to face him. He was watching her closely, looking like a child waiting to hear if it was in trouble. But in his wild eyes, there was absolute sincerity.

She managed to pull herself together before things could get too mushy. But she did let herself smile at John. Just a little.

"Come on you, idiot." She ruffled his hair. "Let's get out of here before the cops come."

John nodded, a little disappointed that she had not flung herself into his arms and showered him with kisses. Shoulders slumped, he started to follow behind the girl of his affections.

"Oh. And John?"

He looked up at her. She was looking over her shoulder at him…smiling. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

With that, she stomped off. Just in time, to boot; the sound of approaching police sirens filled the air. Grinning, John quickly followed behind Wanda. As the fled together, he realized something.

She had lit his hair on fire. But this time she had done it….

Affectionately.

XXXXX

Rogue sat in the med bay, patiently waiting for Remy LeBeau to open his eyes.

Following his encounter with Deadpool, he decided to do something stupid. Stupider than his usual level of stupid. So stupid, he ended up in a coma. And had remained in a coma all day.

Idiot.

And yet, Rogue could not find herself being _too _angry with the Cajun.

That's because the way he got himself in the coma in the first place was by planting the mother of all kisses on her. And he had done it so quickly, she had no time to truly react.

One minute, she had been walking down the hall toward the kitchen. Remy was walking in her direction. Being in a somewhat pleasant mood, she gave him a friendly nod.

"Hey, Swamp Rat."

And then he had wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her flush against him. It literally happened that quickly.

The man was fast.

Then his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding and warm and intrusive. He knew he would only have a few seconds before her powers knocked him out cold, so he seemed to take the little time he had to engulf her in the power of his kiss.

And engulf her he did. Right before he dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Now, Rogue watched as the Cajun slowly began to stir in his bed. Good. He was waking up.

She had words for him.

When his red eyes fluttered open, he immediately turned toward Rogue. Despite having been unconscious for hours on end, he instantly gave her a rakish grin.

"_Bonjour_, River Rat."

"You wanna explain what all of that was about?" she asked without preamble.

He stretched, still grinning. He folded his hands behind his head and regarded her with naughty eyes. "That, _Cherie_, was my grand gesture."

"Your what?"

"Jus' Remy's little way of lettin' you know that I don' care how dangerous your powers might be. It's you I want." His expression softened to a tender smile. "And I'll take you jus' the way you are."

Her heart fluttered in her chest. For a long time, she and Remy simply stared at each other, their eyes locked. Eventually though, the goth lifted a gloved hand and pressed it gently to his forehead.

"You know you could have just told me all of this without sendin' yourself into a coma, right?" she asked gently.

Remy just grinned. "Worth it."

XXXXX

Jean rubbed Scott's back as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet for what had to have been the millionth time since they got home from what she had dubbed the Chimichanga Fiasco.

"I hope this shows you that you really must be more responsible with alcohol, Scott," she chided gently, running her fingers through his hair.

He responded by dry heaving painfully.

Eventually, Scott lifted his head and flushed. Weak and sweaty, he slid down until he was resting his head in Jean's lap. Though she did not look like she would be kissing him anytime soon, she managed to muster an affectionate smile for him.

"You…aren't mad?" he asked.

Jean shook her head, placing a hand on his forehead. "No. Not mad. A little disappointed that you weren't more cautious but everyone is entitled to their mistakes."

Scott smiled up at her, reaching until he found her hand. He held it tight. "You always are so patient with my mistakes."

"Of course I am. I care about you. It's you I want. Even when you mess up, you're still who I want."

Even though they were sitting in the floor of the bathroom and he was feeling like death two times over, Scott couldn't help but feel as if a moment was developing between him and Jean. Which is why he lifted his hand and caressed her cheek.

"Jean?"

"Yeah, Scott?"

And suddenly, in that moment, it wasn't so hard to say what he had been holding back.

"I love you."

He swore her green eyes actually lit up when he said that. She smiled wide. "I love you too, Scott."

Whatever moment that could have developed between them further was cut short when a new wave of nausea claimed Scott and he found himself once again emptying his stomach into the toilet. And Jean sat by his side, patting his back and saying soothing words.

And while it may not have been ideally romantic, he said it.

He said it.

XXXXX

Logan and Ororo finished cleaning the kitchen after dinner that night with a heavy sigh.

"I think I am going to bed now," Ororo stated, yawing and stretching as she said this.

Logan only nodded; he was also pretty tired. "Think I'll do the same."

They exited together, walking in companionable silence until they had to part to go to their respective rooms.

"Goodnight, Logan."

"'Night, 'Ro."

They turned and went their separate ways. He was almost to his room when Logan paused, looking back at where Ororo was retreating.

"Hey, 'Ro?" he called out.

She turned to look at him. "Yes?"

He hesitated, feeling uncharacteristically shy and childlike. "You look really…pretty today." He shrugged helplessly. "Just wanted you to know."

Maybe his eyes deceived him, but he was almost certain that beneath her dark skin, Ororo Munroe was blushing.

XXXXX

Just when the boys were getting settled into the thought that their love lives were finally starting to go somewhere, John, Remy, Scott, and Logan remembered the red head waitress that had given them the push in the right direction. And then they remembered that she too had a love life, with the boy named Nick, that was in need of assistance. And they remembered they had neglected to give her this help despite the fact that she had so subtly asked.

And each one of them realized it was time for them to return their favor.


	9. Chapter 9

**And now, the finale chapter of Girl Talk!**

**Thanks, guys, for sticking with me through the lack of updates. I really do hope you enjoy this conclusion. Thanks for all the reviews and the favorites. I sincerely appreciate it. **

**Zany: Felicia is the Black Cat, a friend of Spider-Man. I figure Remy may have made a few thieving friends during his years of misbehaving. Really, I'm just stocking up on some well placed and fun cameos for Thigh High Boots. **

**JosephineX: No problem :) **

**CurrentlyIncognito: I wouldn't say Nick was going to "die" per se….**

**And I keep forgetting to mention this. Guys. LaylaYuy is writing a story that I can't get enough of called "Only Trying To Help." Romy fun there. I totally suggest you check it out if you got time because I am loving it. **

**And onward to the finale chapter!**

**XXXXX**

Christine sighed happily as she stepped out of her shower.

It had been about a week since her very strange encounter with the X-Men and her life was once again normal. While she missed the oddball group of men, she was happy to be living a peaceful, gunshot free life once more.

She was certain all would remain relatively calm from that moment on.

Drying off, she pulled on a bathrobe and stepped out her bathroom. She hummed to herself, thinking about making some tea and reading a book before she retired for the night.

It was rather nice to return to peace and quiet.

Smiling to herself, Christine padded barefoot to her bedroom. She started to untie her robe, preparing to enjoy her nudity before pulling on her pajamas.

But when she opened the door and found Remy LeBeau half in and half out of her window, for a moment, she was almost not surprised.

Almost.

She nearly screamed, but stopped herself. She instead settled for nearly jumping out of her skin, her heart damn near beating out of her chest and retying her robe again before Remy could see anything. Putting a hand over her heart, she leaned heavily on the doorframe. Remy just watched hers, grinning.

"_Bonjour_, _Cherie_."

She felt a migraine coming on. "What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?"

He opened his mouth to answer but she shook her head, silencing him.

"Actually," she amended, "I don't want to know the answer to that last question."

Remy's smirk only grew.

"What are you doing here?"

"Me and the boys got talkin' and we realized that as nice as you were to us, we neglected to return the favor." He nodded at her bed. She looked over, only just noticing the rather large package sitting there, wrapped up nice in neat in red paper with a black bow. "Consider this our way of sayin' thanks."

Numbly, Christine wandered over to her bed. She eyed the package skeptically, half expecting Wade or something to pop out and finally scare her to death. But nothing happened. Tentatively, she tugged at the bow.

"What's inside?" she wanted to know, turning back toward Remy. But the thief was already almost gone.

"_Abiento_," he whispered, blowing a kiss before disappearing completely.

Christine hurried over to the window, poking her head out. He was nowhere to be seen, which was odd, what with her living on the third floor and whatnot. Sighing heavily, she pulled her head back in and went back to look at the package.

She pulled off the bow and carelessly tore the red wrapping paper off. Pulling it open, she was surprised to find a number of items inside. She reached inside and pulled out the first thing her hand touched.

A small package of expensive looking, scented candles. Grinning, she looked at the card that was attached.

_To help you set the mood—Scott_

She lifted the candles to her nose and inhaled. Jasmine. She mentally praised Scott's taste in candles. Sweet but vaguely sensual. Setting the candles aside, she pulled out something small and metallic at the bottom of the box. Lifting it closer, she realized it was the lighter she had seen John fiddling with. It was engraved with his initials. There was a small card taped to it.

_To help you start the fire—John_

She assumed it was for the candles and set it down. She went back to the package, pulling out something wrapped up in pink tissue paper. It too had a note attached to it.

_To help with your seduction—Remy_

Confused, Christine tore past the wrapping paper.

"Oh my god!" she gasped, her cheeks going up in flames. She threw the scandalous, lacey bit of red onto the bed as if it may harm her. She stared at it, afraid, intrigued and curious as to how Remy knew her size.

She decided it was best if she didn't think about it too much.

Still scandalized, she looked at the last thing in the package. A single envelope. Now afraid of what she may find, Christine lifted it up. Her name was scrawled on the front. Tearing it open, she pulled out a sheet a paper. There was only one line, written in serious black ink but surprisingly neat handwriting.

_Your tip—Logan _

Confused, she looked back in the envelope. There was a check tucked inside. She pulled it out and looked at the amount she had been tipped.

And then she damn near fainted.

Legs shaking, she dropped down so she was sitting on her bed. She looked at the check again, making sure she was seeing as many zeroes as she thought.

She was.

"Oh my god," she breathed, feeling a little dizzy. She set the check down on top of the lingerie, trying to pull her thoughts together.

What the hell did all these gifts mean? Candles for the mood. A lighter to light said candles. Lingerie for seduction.

Christine's eyebrows pulled together and she began to piece it together. They were returning the favor…candles…lingerie…. And where was Wade's gift?

And then it all clicked. Christine's eyes closed as she groaned. "Oh no…."

When some rapped gently on her door, she couldn't say she was all that surprised. With a heavy sigh, she got to her feet and headed for the front door. Drawing in one last deep breath, she unlocked the door and swung it open.

Nick, all six-feet-four-inches of him stood on the other side. He was dressed formally, a black dress shirt and a red tie. His vaguely long auburn hair, which she was accustomed to seeing hanging around his ears and in his face was combed back. He held a rose in his hand.

And he looked absolutely petrified.

"Hi, Nick," she said, sounding as if she had been expecting him.

He was visibly shaking in fear. "Hi, Chris." He stopped shaking long enough to take in her fresh out of the shower appearance. He lifted an eyebrow at her. "You look…nice."

Once again, she blushed under his roaming eyes. She pulled the bathrobe around her tighter. "Hehe…thanks."

And he smiled at her. And her heart did this funny little…flippy thing in her chest and she couldn't think of something to say. Which is why it was both a blessing and a curse when Wade popped his head out from behind Nick's massive body.

"Hi, Chrissy!" he greeted cheerfully.

She forced her eyes off Nick. "Hi, Wade."

He came so he was standing beside Nick. It was then she saw that he had a large, frightening looking gun pointed at Nick. She should have been upset. Or shocked. Or angry. Or frightened for him.

But at this point, she wasn't even surprised.

"You know him?" Nick asked.

She just gave him a look, hoping he could see the apology in her blue eyes. She looked back at Wade.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"You know," the mercenary began conversationally, "it really wasn't all that hard to find this guy's home address. So I decided to drop in and pay him a little visit. Now what _was_ hard was getting this big fella to cooperate. He put up quite the fight." He playfully swatted Nick with his gun. Nick flinched away. "But people are _always _willing to cooperate when you pull a gun on them."

Christine nodded. "I imagine so."

"So I told him to get dressed in his best finery—"

"He undressed me!" Nick chimed in.

"—and brought him over here for you, my darling love dove."

"I feel violated," the young man mumbled under his breath.

Christine shot him another sympathetic look.

"Now, darling," Wade went on, "I've brought you your man. From this point on, it's up to you to work it."

"But, Wade, I—"

"I SAID WORK IT!"

"Okay! Okay! Jeez…."

"Good." He directed his attention back to Nick. He pressed the gun deeper into his back. "And if you mess this up," he hissed in a voice that was both menacing and high pitched, "I swear I will hunt you down and spell out my name with your intestines. Do. Not. Hurt. Her."

If it weren't for the fact that he was threatening her potential paramour's life, Christine would have found Wade's protectiveness sweet.

With one last glare, Wade shoved Nick into her apartment. Into her arms. She was surprised to find his hands on her hips, hers on his chest. Their eyes locked for a moment before a whistle caught there attention. They both turned to look back at Wade.

He blew Christine a kiss. "If he messes this up, call me sugar dumplin'."

She just blinked at him. "Um…."

Satisfied with a job well done, Wade turned on his heel and started to march out of the apartment complex. He was almost at the first flight of stairs when he heard his name being called. He turned and found Christine standing just outside her bedroom, looking at him with…it looked like there was sadness in her eyes.

"What about you?" she asked softly.

He did not need her to elaborate; he knew she was enquiring about his love life. He simply shook his head.

"I've got someone waiting for me at home," he told her, before he descended down the stairs.

Sighing, the red head returned to her apartment, closing and locking the door behind her. She looked up at the large man standing in her living room, noticing how he was scratching his ear incessantly.

"Will you get this thing off me?" he asked, pointing at a tag that had been wrapped around his ear. "That Deadpool guy put it on and it's too tight for me to get it off."

Enjoying the thought of being close to him, Christine stood tip toe and, after a few moment, managed to get the tag off of his ear. She then noticed that there was something written on it.

_To sugar lips,_

_ Here's your returned favor. With hugs and chainsaws-D. Pool_

**XXXXX**

Wade Wilson carefully tucked away his many, many weapons before stripping out of his red and black uniform. He pulled on boxers and a t-shirt before he grabbed a beer and sat down on his couch. Getting comfortable with a beer and a sandwich, he reached for the remote and turned his TV on. As expected, a familiar theme song began playing.

_…and the card attached would say "Thank you for being a friend." Thank you for being a friend…._

It would be another night of a watching _Golden Girls _reruns.

He sighed as a single tear trickled down his scarred face. On screen, the only woman he ever truly loved sashayed in front of the live studio audience.

Just another night spent with beer, sandwiches, and his beloved Bea Arthur, truly, the most beautiful woman to have ever walked the earth.

And he didn't want to spend it any other way.

**The end**

**XXXXX**

**For anyone left confused as to why Wade is so content with watching the **_**Golden Girls**_**, it's because he had a serious thing for one of the main characters on the show, Bea Arthur, who passed in 2009. And if you think I am exaggerating this passion for the older woman, hop on Google and search for "Deadpool and Bea Arthur." It's both heartwarming and disturbing. **

**Anyway….**

**Well, the end. Huh. I can't believe it. I hope you guys at least enjoyed this fluffy bit of nothing I wrote. I guess it's time to start working on a bigger project. **

**Until we meet again….**

**-M.A.**


End file.
